Run
by asilversnitch
Summary: Hermione, Harry and Ron are on the run. All it took was one word, and everything goes wrong. It's a game of cat and mouse, but this time it seems that the stakes are much higher. One-Shot. Scabmione. Set in DH Part 1.


**DISCLAIMER: **All characters, sets etc belong to the wonderful Rowling. I do not own anything, except for this little story I wrote.

Okay, so I'm quite happy with this story. Admittedly, it's not brilliant by any means, but I've finished it, and it's actually quite long! So yes, I'm proud to say I've actually finished a story. There are also a few brilliant songs I'd like to mention, that helped me write this song, and might even make the reading better:  
>Eve 6 - Think Twice<br>Sugarcult - Pretty Girl  
>Skillet - Never Surrender (near the end is the best to listen to this one!)<br>Andrew Belle - In My Veins

As to my other Scabmione story, for any of you who actually do read it, I apologize for not updating in so long. I came to a point in which I was completely void of ideas. I've got one or two now, but I'm afraid to say it may be a while before they can be put into action. I do plan on writing other stories, perhaps even with another character ship. I do like Dramione!

Anyway, this story has been rattling around my computer for a while, so I thought I'd finish it, and submit it. I hope you like it, and I would appreciate it very much if you would read it, comment it and even favourite it! But, you know, no pressure :)

I am considering doing a sequel or something to this story, but it depends what you think? Either way, I'm happy!

So, without further ado, my story!

* * *

><p><em>Run.<em>

The word resonated through Hermione's head, and she hadn't even thought it a second before she was already sprinting away; as far away as she could ever get. Snapping twigs and harsh breathes told her that Ron and Harry had followed her actions. The trio were running for what felt like their lives, and in many ways they were. If the snatchers were to catch them...

Chains whipped through the air, the blunt metal clank forcing her further on. Hermione could hear the trees break from the metal latches sent to bound her. Her chest heaved in protest, dragging her down into defeat. But she couldn't allow that, not when it was _their _lives at stake.

It wasn't far from her mind to think of those who were chasing her. The snatchers, of whom she never hoped to meet. She knew too well the type of men they were. Without conscience was a simple way of describing them. They found excitement in hunting down human beings; for money of all things. They had no morals, no sense of decency.

Hermione shot from her reverie when a tree, only inches from hers, split with such a crack. The snatchers were getting too close, she was getting too clumsy; either way. Taking a risk, Hermione twisted back; her wand rose in her arm, and sent a spell that jolted the ground in front of the snatchers. Hopeful that she had shrugged off the snatchers, she continued running on.

It was when she saw the snatchers emerging from the dense trees ahead of her that she began to realise just how hopeless it was. There were three of them. Against the snatchers, three teenage wizards stood no chance.

With that in mind, she braced herself. Harry rand towards her, his face plastered with confusion as to why she was raising her wand at him. Hermione cast the spell, causing Harry to stumble back onto the ground. It hurt her to do so, but if it meant hiding the truth, and potentially saving him, then it had to be done.

She rushed towards him, and shoved his glasses into the pocket of her jacket. Frantically, he informed her of the Hallows. They exist, he said to her, but he is only after the last. He knew where it was and that by the night he'd have the Elder wand. Hermione didn't even question how he knew, she couldn't. A snatcher grabbed her arms, pulling her back into his tight grip. Ronald protested, but it only seemed to make things worse.

It was then that he spoke again. The man who haunted her; frightened her beyond all belief. Of all the things she'd come across, this man terrified her above all others, because she couldn't understand. The look in his face the last time she'd seen him. The way his dark, alluring eyes fell directly on hers, as though the wards between them were nothing but air. There was a wanting she couldn't place, but she knew it was dangerous.

The snatcher, who appeared to be the leader, interrogated Harry, but only got out of him the false name of his own cousin. She hoped that the man wouldn't realise.

Quickly though, she wished the man would return to interrogating Harry. His eyes once again fell on her, but this time she knew he could see her. There was no shield to hide her anymore. Whatever his intentions were, there was no barricade to stop him. She was weak, and vulnerable and as he observed her, it was evident he knew it too.

The snatcher stalked towards her, like she was his prey. His movements intentionally slow and lingering, putting her further onto edge. The quickness of her breath, the irrational pounding in her chest, all were caused by this man.

"And you, my lovely, what do they call you?" The man inquired, a teasing tone easing into his words. She gulped deeply as he drew closer to her, until only centimetres separated the two. Ron's curses were distant noises, and although she shared the feeling, she couldn't bring herself to protest. Her mind had lost all logical concept, leaving her stranded in a very compromising position.

"Penelope Clearwater," She muttered "Half blood."

His hand reached out for her, and toyed with her hair, his fingers lacing into the soft mass. She tilted her head away from him, but she couldn't deny the rising temperature that emulated off her body. She felt overwhelmed.

His face leaned in closer towards her, and for a second she was at a loss. She froze in place, unsure of what exactly was going on. He buried his nose in her unruly hair and breathed deeply. Hermione's eyes widened in acknowledgment as she realised what he was doing, why he was doing it. He knew who she was; he remembered her.

"You smell like vanilla, Penelope." The man grinned and tipped her chin up with his finger, rather forcibly, "I think you'll be my favourite." He murmured into her ear, sending cold, threatening chills through her body.

Ron was struggling violently in the snatcher's grasp, sending curses to the snatcher in front of Hermione. The snatcher leaned back from her. He quirked his eyebrow mockingly at her, and made a gesture with his hand. Hermione watched the man with confusion, until Ron's grunts echoed through the air. The snatchers were punching and kicking at him viciously as he lay on the ground, too outnumbered to be able to fight back.

"Stop! Please, you're hurting him!" She yelled at the snatcher, jerking and thrashing around in the snatcher's arms. Harry, throughout the whole ordeal, had attempted to remain calm, but now was beginning to realise just how serious a situation they'd fell into. Both of them shouted and pleaded with the snatchers to stop.

The werewolf, Greyback, seemed to take particular joy in beating up Ronald, and Hermione couldn't help but wince as she almost felt the impact with each precise kick.

A malicious glint sparked in the snatcher' eyes, and eventually he stopped the others, leaving Ronald clutching his stomach, his eyes sewn tightly shut in pain. Hermione heaved a sigh of relief, knowing that it could've ended alot worse. He was still breathing, and that's the thought she had to hold onto. All they had to do was to survive, for their sake, for Harry's sake, for everyone's sake.

"Now, you see darlin'." The snatcher whispered tauntingly, "Not to lie to us."

"We're telling the truth!" She cried out, desperation seeping into her tone. Seeing Ron in such a vulnerable state, seeing all of them so weak in the hands of the enemy, she couldn't help the rising panic.

The snatcher moved closer, suddenly seeming to tower over her. His eyes burned through hers. His gaze so intense she dropped her head and let out a gasp of anguish; to fall at the hands of these disgusting, careless men.

The snatcher grabbed her chin, and forced her head up to level his. She couldn't turn away, she couldn't even move. Trapped between two snatchers, she was completely in his control; the most terrifying possibility to cross her mind.

"You look scared, lovely." She shook her head, attempting to release herself of his grip. His amused eyes followed her movements, and his lips quirked in the most sinister fashion, "You should be."

The harsh laugh that followed shook Hermione. She closed her eyes, hoping to drown out the world around her. She could feel his chest pressing against hers, and suddenly she couldn't breathe. His heart beat stoically, and she realised she couldn't reason with a man like this. He felt nothing for the pain he caused, he was a lost cause.

"I'm not scared of you." She whispered so faintly she thought he mightn't have heard her. But he did, oh how she realised he did.

His hand reached out, gripping her hair tightly and pulling her even closer to him until their faces were practically touching. His eyes piercing into her soul, showing no remorse. Of course not, he probably doesn't even know of guilt, of regret; of humanity.

"Oh darling, you are." He mused, his hand wrapping painfully into her hair, tugging at the strands so violently. "I can feel that little heart of yours beating out of your chest."

"You don't scare me," She continued, ignoring his disagreements and disregarding the worry that was slowly seeping into her mind, begging her to be quiet but she couldn't. She couldn't allow him to break her down, not now. "You're pathetic; preying on the innocent for your own sadistic pleasure. I'm not scared of you, I pity you."

The words rushed out, and the relief she felt to speak them were quickly lost in the panic of his response. His mocking grin had disappeared, and a look of anger flared up on his face. She could feel his hand tighten in her hair. But then, much to everyone's apparent surprise, the grin returned, though this time there was something sinister lurking in his gaze that Hermione couldn't deny.

"So, you think you know me, do you?" He taunted, his eyebrows rising. The silence that surrounded the two was impenetrable. Even Ronald, who'd spent so long shouting and cursing, had turned deadly silent; his worried gaze assessing the two.

"No, I don't and I never want to."

"Very fiery, aren't you, love?" He said, licking his lips as his gaze surveyed the young witch in front of him. She was a very interesting girl by all accounts. "What is your real name, darling?"

"I told you already-"

"No, I said your real name." He interrupted her with a smirk, "We all know you weren't being very honest. Now, your name?"

Hermione opened her lips, but stumbled on her words. He knew she was lying and by the look in his eye, she could tell he was quickly becoming suspicious. She grasped for anything that could quell his curiosity, but it was too late. With a single motion, the snatcher holding her from behind her had disappeared, and she stood frozen in confusion.

The snatcher advanced on her, but she stepped back. Again and again, he kept moving towards her and she scrambled to keep the distance until her back collided with the rough wood of a tree. The bark scratched her back, but was little in comparison to the danger that was in front of her. He closed the distance in a second, and his hands fell onto either side of the tree trunk, effectively trapping her in his hold.

"I think you'd better start being more co-operative, Miss Granger." Hermione's eyes widened, and her head whipped up to glance at the man. No, he couldn't. No. She almost wanted to scream. This couldn't be happening. He can't know!

Her mind clung to the conversation, searching for any fault she may have provided. How could he possibly know!

"I... I'm not-"

"So where's the fiery witch now, love? Cat got your tongue?" He mocked, taking out his wand and twirling it aimlessly between his fingers. His gaze continued to linger on her, amused by the expressions that adorned her perfectly heart shaped face. He took his wand and pointed it under her chin, forcing her face to move up, closer and closer to him.

How lost she looked, it was almost heartbreaking. Well, for those who had a heart perhaps?

"So, love, what do you think I should do?" He teased, flicking the wand from her chin and putting it back in the pocket of his plaid pants.

"I- I don't understand." She stammered, biting at her lip. What did he want with her? If he knew who they really were, why wasn't he rushing to take them to the Ministry, or worse, straight to Voldemort himself? Of course, the snatcher would be sure to earn a few more galleons if he presented the trio to the Dark Lord. What did he really want?

"Well, as you know, there's a nice little bounty on Potter's head. Would be a shame for me to lose out on that opportunity, don't you think? However, you and ginger got quite the reward too."

"Please. What do you want me to do?" She asked, her eyes glancing over Harry and Ron. She needed to save them at the very least. The snatcher leaned forward, until their lips were practically brushing together. She wanted to pull back, but she was playing his game now, and they were on his terms.

"Convince me." He ordered, his voice commanding yet said with a distinct lust that made her feel sick. Then, like an animal, he lunged on her. His mouth hungrily took hers, pressing forward until Hermione imagined her lips swollen and bruised. Her arms caught at his chest, and desperately attempted to push him off. It was a feeble attempt.

His mouth tasted of cigarettes and alcohol, and she almost gagged as his tongue darted into her mouth, against her will. The protests from the two boys had once again begun, but this time it seemed that the snatcher was in no hurry to punish them. Instead, she thought, he was intent on punishing only her.

A whimper escaped her lips as his hands wandered over her skin, tugging at her clothing. She could see that he had no doubts in doing that in front of everyone, but she definitely did.

"Please, no, not here. No, stop it!" She begged in between kisses. The snatcher slowed, and leaned back to stare at her face. She saw a trail of blood from his mouth, and wondered whether it was hers or his. Her hand went to her lips, where she felt the wet liquid falling. She examined the blood on her fingertip, and looked back to him, who was also staring at it.

Without hesitation, the snatcher grabbed her wrist, ignoring her as she tried violently to pull free. He brought the finger towards his mouth, and licked away the blood that had fallen. His eyes turned to look at her, his lips forming a smirk. He was in control now, he was telling her. He knew who she was, who they all were. He was more than content in using that information against her.

He turned, gesturing for the other snatcher. He rushed back to Hermione's side, binding her up. The snatcher smiled wickedly as he examined the three of them. Hermione closed her eyes. She could no longer watch as the monster stood before them, holding their lives in his hands. The trio had gone through many things, but there was no escape this time.

"We take Potter and the Ginger to the Manor." The snatcher informed the werewolf, Fenrir Greyback. Greyback, Hermione remembered, was the one who had bitten Remus, thus turning him into the very thing he seemed to despise.

"What about the girl, Scabior, what're you going to do with her?" Greyback responded, his eyes glued to the young witch. The snatcher- no, Scabior stared viciously at the werewolf.

"None of your business!" He told the werewolf, then directed his next few words towards the snatcher restraining Hermione, "Take her back to camp. Put her in my room." He commanded the snatcher, smirking as he saw Hermione's response to his orders.

"No, Hermione!" Ron yelled as he saw the witch disapparating with the snatcher. Scabior turned to the young Weasley, and grinned, "You bastard!"

"Don't worry Ginger; I'll take good care of her." He teased, laughing with the other snatchers.

{}

"Hello love."

The witch lay motionless on Scabior's bed, refusing even to acknowledge the man. She kept her eyes sewn shut and wondered what was going on with Harry and Ron. Were they ok? Where they even alive?

She could hear the movements of the snatcher, and curiosity always tended to get the best of Hermione. Cautiously, she opened her eyes to see the snatcher faced away from her. He was shrugging off his leather jacket and stretching his toned arms, though he didn't take the gloves or the scarf off.

The scarf, it was familiar. Hermione narrowed her eyes, examining the pink mass. It was hers. Her eyes widened as she realised, it was her fault all along. They knew that they'd be returning to the forest, all because of her irrational actions.

The witch turned onto her back, her eyes staring up to the ceiling in contemplation. What was going to happen to her? Why did Scabior want her?

"So you are awake." The snatcher observed, leaning against the wall with an air of nonchalance. His hands were grasping at the scarf, twisting and tugging the stands teasingly. In the short time she knew him; Hermione saw that he liked to play with his prey. The most dangerous type of predator was those who enjoyed the chase rather than the capture. He was a snatcher; he was one of those men.

Hermione turned over, her body turned away from the snatcher. She pulled the covers up, gripping them tightly in her hands until her knuckles turned white. It had been days since they'd been captured by the snatchers, yet Hermione imagined years going by while she was confined in his room. Most of the time, when he was present, she'd pretend to be asleep. When he caught her awake, Hermione ignored the man. Since the first day, Scabior hadn't even touched her. Hermione couldn't understand why he even wanted her around after all this time. Surely, he was bored of a muggle-born taking his bed. He must be realising that keeping her here was of no benefit to him.

Of course, when he did realise, what did that mean for Hermione? She doubted that Scabior would simply let her go free, and live out the rest of her life as a "mudblood" witch. Although, if Voldemort was successful, then she wouldn't be able to live her life regardless of whether Scabior set her free. The most logical thing for him to do would be to take her to the Ministry, but what would he say? Was he even allowed to be harbouring her from the Dark Lord?

The other snatchers wouldn't sell Scabior out. For some reason, Hermione noted that they all respected him, in a rather unusual fashion. He was the leader, and therefore whatever he did was to be questioned by none. Nobody had ever entered the tent other than Scabior, nor had they told anybody about the location of Hermione Granger. She was quite literally isolated, and her only companion was the snatcher with the red streak.

An abrupt noise brought her out of her thoughts. She jumped up from the bed, only to see a glass placed on the cabinet beside the bed. Scabior was still turned away, busy sorting out another confidential matter, but obviously had time to make her a drink?

She lifted the glass from the side, and took a long look at the contents, considering every possibility; poison, veritaserum, there could be anything in it!

"There's nothing in it, just water." Scabior informed her as he saw her observing the glass closely, her face crinkled in confusion. Her wide, brown eyes stared at him, and then back down at the liquid. Sighing, Scabior took the glass from her grasp at took a deep gulp of the contents before giving it back to her.

He raised his eyebrows, almost condescendingly as she continued to ponder about the drink. Finally, she raised the glass to her lips and took a sip of water. The water flowed down her throat, and Hermione almost gasped at the feeling that went through her. She was so thirsty. There was a certain euphoria to the cold, refreshing taste that had been so long absent. She took another, much longer gulp of the water until there was nothing more than an empty glass.

She settled the glass back down onto the side cabinet. An awkward silence filled the air, well at least for Hermione. There were so many questions in her head, screaming to be answered. Not knowing, the one thing she couldn't stand was not knowing the truth.

"Uh, I-" Hermione started, but quickly lost herself, "What's going on?"

"I gave you a drink." He stated simply, but he could see that she wasn't talking about the drink.

"I mean, what is happening out there?" She replied, tucking a strand of hair carefully behind her hair as she waited, or rather, hoped for some sort of explanation, something to put her on ease.

"Not for you to worry about, love." He assured her, though she realised that not admitting it wasn't for her best interests, rather for his. Scabior wanted to keep Hermione in the dark. That way, there was no possible way she could escape, or even hope of escaping. For all she knew, Harry and Ron were dead; the Dark Lord had taken over. The world could be slowly falling around them, but Hermione would be none the wiser. Scabior intended on keeping her wrapped up in this world of unknown.

"But I do worry. I don't understand." She admitted, murmuring the words silently, as though she didn't want anyone to hear. Scabior drew up from his slouching position and paced the room, his hand subconsciously moving to his hair. In truth, he wasn't quite sure what was going on.

When he ordered the Granger girl to be put in his room, he knew his intentions, and they were anything but pure. When he returned however, she was asleep and after his almost brutal beating from Bellatrix, he too was exhausted, and sought to sleep on the armchair across the room. Why he didn't sleep in the bed, he wasn't quite sure. The next few days were unusual for him. The girl mostly slept, which was of much relief to him, since he had no idea what to do with her.

He enjoyed the feeling of having control of another person's life, especially a pretty little thing like Hermione Granger. Yet he couldn't fathom what to do with her, how to treat her. Feelings had arisen, which were foreign to people like him. They were nothing close to love, that was just absurd. Regardless, he was starting to find comfort in having the mudblood girl around, and whether he liked it or not, he was becoming a bit fond of the witch.

"Sometimes it's better if you don't understand." The snatcher reasoned.

"Do you even understand?" She retaliated, and Scabior narrowed his eyes. It annoyed him that she sounded much more logical than his own mind seemed to be.

"And what is it I'm meant to be understanding?" Scabior asked, turning to face the girl who'd moved to lean against the bed's headboard. Her body still mostly covered in the bed sheets, more protectively than anything.

"Why you wanted to keep me? Why you didn't just let me go with Harry and Ron?" She listed, and it appeared as though there were many other questions she had lined up.

"Would you like me to take you to Malfoy Manor then? See how long it'd be before Bellatrix kills you, getting too carried away while torturing you." He snarled, losing his calm at the fact that the young witch was besting him.

"You could've taken me to the Ministry; you could've let me go." The last option was spoken only in a whisper. Hermione swiped at the single tear that had fallen, but one tear was all that it took. Hermione curled up, her knees tucked up with her arms hugging them. Her head hidden behind the brown lock that fell down her face. Soft sobs reached Scabior's ears. He had finally broken her down, and he'd done nothing at all.

The snatcher moved forward unsteadily. He was unsure how to approach her. He hadn't had much experience with crying girls, and for some reason, seeing his strong-willed little witch in such a state didn't seem right. He didn't love her, he told himself. He was fond of her, and therefore he would care about whether she was sad or not.

He sat at the edge of the bed, Hermione realised at the feeling of the dip in the mattress. She didn't know what he was doing, but she didn't care. She was scared, terrified; for Ron, Harry, her parents, everyone. Whatever situation she was in, they must be in worse. She wanted to help them so badly.

Hermione slowly raised her head, and Scabior saw the tears staining her pretty little face. He leaned forward, and carefully brushed them away with his thumb. He hadn't even thought about doing it, it just felt natural.

She froze for a moment, and then fell forwards. Her arms wrapped around the snatcher's neck, and she shuffled her body closer to him. Her head buried into his shoulder, hiding herself from everything.

Scabior wasn't sure how to respond, but it wasn't his brain that was moving his arms around her back, pulling her closer to him. It wasn't his mind that brought his hand to rest on her head, stroking at the soft, brown curls.

He murmured sweet nothings into her ear, telling her it was all going to be ok, that he was here, that he would look after her. The words were automatic, without consideration.

"I don't want to feel the fear anymore, Scabior." She told him in between sobs. He shushed her gently, and slowly eased the girl onto his lap. Days of silence and now all this. Hermione had kept it all inside, the panic, the pain. She should've known it would end this way. What she hadn't expected was the comfort of a certain snatcher, and her ease in accepting it. Perhaps her sadness forced her to such a point where anyone could've been there, and she would have wanted their comfort, their embrace. Yet it was Scabior.

He was surprisingly good at soothing her, and Hermione soon rested in his embrace, exhaustion prominent from the bout of crying. He hadn't left her, and for that she was grateful, if not slightly confused also.

Scabior could see his witch was tired. Even with her eyes red from crying, she was still a pretty thing. Carefully, he lowered her onto the bed, bringing the covers upto her arms. She gripped the covers gratefully, keeping them close to her chest.

Scabior leant down, brushing the stray strands of hair from her face. Her eyes locked with his, but he could see that she was struggling to keep them so. He smiled gently, and pressed his lips on her forehead, kissing her softly.

"Goodnight, love." He muttered, standing up and taking one last look at his witch. He moved to leave, but her hand grasped his wrist. He could've easily broken free of her contact, but he didn't want to. He turned back to Hermione.

"Don't leave me." She pleaded with him. He nodded subtly and gestured towards the armchair, but she shook her head. "Stay with me." She said, and tugged his wrist, forcing him towards the bed. He wondered if maybe her exhaustion was making her act out of sorts.

"Are you sure?" He asked with a sceptical expression. She nodded, and that was all it took.

Scabior moved to the other side of the bed, took off the scarf and the gloves, and still dressed he sunk onto the bed. Hermione turned, and rested her head on his shoulder once more. Hermione's hand lay on his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt tightly as though he might disappear at any second. His arms wrapped around her back, pushing her into his embrace.

The two stayed like that for quite some time, neither talking but both awake. This time, though, it was a comfortable silence. They both felt comfort in the other ones hold.

Finally, Hermione managed to fall asleep, but Scabior was still wide awake. He stared at the girl in his arms, and wondered if it was possible to keep her. He kissed her temple, and smiled as she shivered a little in her sleep.

"Goodnight, my love." He whispered into the dark.


End file.
